


wait for me to come home

by phloridas



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2009 Era (Phandom), Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Through the Years, happy international phannie day everyone!, hope you enjoy!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 12:03:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16346390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phloridas/pseuds/phloridas
Summary: The story of Dan and Phil, as told by their Starbucks sofa. (Or, the bits of it that the sofa could catch anyway.)





	wait for me to come home

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the Phandom Fic Fest's "Starbucks sofa" bingo prompt!

Living as a squishy red sofa in the downstairs of a British Starbucks, especially one in the heart of Manchester, means you’re constantly meeting all kinds of people.

Very few come back, though--except for a couple of tall lanky guys in the early stages of adulthood.

They fell rather ungracefully onto the sofa that first October day, slumping as if they hadn’t had the chance to sit down in ages. Or maybe it was because something (a lot of things, perhaps) were brewing beneath the surface.

Hints of caramel and sugar drifted out of their large white mugs sat on the round wooden table in front of them as both pairs of eyes darted all around the tiny shop for a few loaded seconds until they landed on each other. It was only a brief moment, though, before the brown-haired one, with a long fringe falling over the left side of his forehead, bit his lip, and the black-haired one let out a soft giggle, tugging at the fringe falling just above his right eye with shaky fingers.

Their conversation may have gotten off to a rocky start but it flowed easier once they’d taken a few long sips from their steaming cups. Their dynamic, the sofa had to admit, was a fascinating one. Once the conversation really got going, they talked like they’d known each other their whole lives, enthusing over various video game and TV characters, catching up on what some people (their other friends, perhaps) had been tweeting recently, and the black-haired one’s recent trip to Ireland. But their bodies were stiff and hesitant, always cautious, like they’d only just met.

Their eyes told a different story, one of deep thrills and desires, yet also an intense fear of judgement. Even the sofa could feel the charged space between them, and it cheered to itself when that space grew smaller and smaller until their legs were pressed together. If only the gentle rhythms of surrounding conversation weren’t so distracting, to both the boys and the sofa. It found itself dreading every hint of chatter drifting from the stairs, wishing for the first time that customers would stop coming in, just so the sofa wouldn’t have to feel the poor guys stiffening every time.

Eventually, the sofa learned that the black-haired one’s name was Phil and the brown-haired one was Dan, and that they both had soft, gentle voices, although Phil’s grew higher in pitch when he got excited. Dan’s voice would sometimes trail off into nothingness, making Phil’s eyes grow wide with concern the first couple times, but eventually he’d place a hand on Dan’s knee and shoot him a soft smile that pulled Dan back to the mostly empty coffee shop.

And when they left a couple hours later, headed for the bright lights and flashy technology of the Manchester Arndale Apple store, the sofa was shocked to find it felt a bit empty in more ways than one. Perhaps it was an illusion brought on by the slumping cushions, but the sofa could swear the bright lights had grown dimmer, or at the very least, the sun was obscured by some particularly dark clouds. How else could it explain the sudden dullness of the green walls or the particularly nostalgic tint to the pluck of the guitar strings drifting from the speakers overhead?

Still, something about the way they struggled to get up, as if their bodies had molded into the sofa entirely, tells it this isn’t the last that the couch will see--or feel--of these guys. Even if it was kind of a big deal that Dan was here in Manchester and the sofa had no idea where Wokingham, or Reading Station (where he presumably came from), were.

But if the way he clung to Phil’s side on the way out was any indication, this wasn’t about to be his only venture into Manchester. And judging by the way Phil’s face lit up brighter than the Halloween lights in the surrounding storefronts, he wasn’t about to let Dan go if he could help it.

At least, the sofa sure hoped he wouldn’t anyway.

 

**

As luck would have it, those same boys returned just a couple weeks later, as a sharp bite in the weather forced them to add more layers than the T shirts and plaid button-ups they’d worn last time. Dan had the same black and grey messenger bag, but his super straight fringe had begun to curl at the ends and at the top near his forehead, probably thanks to the constant patter of rain against the walls and windows. He kept tugging at it every couple minutes until Phil grabbed his hand with that same soft smile he had a fortnight ago. This time, though, there was an extra knowing glint in his eyes.

They were a bit more tired this time, if the way they collapsed into the sofa was anything to go by. The fleeting eye contact had been replaced with an air of comfort, the fear of touch all but eradicated as Dan leaned slightly into Phil’s shoulder when he returned with their drinks (caramel macchiatos again, the sofa made sure to listen extra close from the moment they stumbled in), but despite the nearly empty downstairs, questions still hung at the ends of their every breath and movement.

They really did act like old friends now, in every sense of the words. The sofa didn’t realize how nice it was until the conversation had fully settled in, each pause bringing a soft smile or a bumping of hands or feet or legs or shoulders. Every time Dan complained about the rain, Phil couldn’t stop smiling. It would’ve bordered on disgusting if the cozy music floating from the speakers wasn’t making everything so damn cute.

And if the occasional glances from the girl across the room, sat by herself with an array of books and papers fanned out across the table in front of her meant anything, she certainly agreed.

It was nice. Even if Dan grew silent once Phil cautiously asked about his family and mates back home, tugging at one of the fraying bracelets on his wrist as his shoulders slumped into himself. Even if it did take a few tugs of his hand for him to glance back at Phil. It was especially nice because Phil was nothing but understanding, guiding the subject over to an unrelated story from his childhood. Dan’s answering smile radiated gratitude all the way down to the happy wiggle of his toes.

They lingered a lot longer that day, and for a few moments, the sofa thought they might be spending the entire afternoon there. The two certainly had no intention of leaving, especially Dan. As the rain-soaked minutes slipped past, he slid closer and closer until his body was basically molded into Phil’s. Their every motion felt so natural, so _right_ , from Dan’s gentle swaying along to the soft indie music drifting from the speakers to Phil’s slow, steady breathing.

It was almost a shame when Phil inevitably began shuffling around for his phone, sitting up rather sharply against the squishy sofa. They were just on the heels of evening, when the buses would be full of Friday night commuters (according to Phil) so they should really try to catch the next one. “Because all those people...yeah no, right?” Phil scrunched his face up as he pulled his dark grey jacket tighter around himself, shivering a little in the sudden warmth.

Even as he slumped forward a little, there was a smile in Dan’s eyes, which appeared to be somewhere far beyond these green and maroon walls, beyond all of Manchester, even. “Mmmm, definitely no,” he murmured in agreement. Darting his gaze across the mostly empty cafe, Dan shoved his hand into Phil’s with defiance in his features.

All that defiance melted away, though, when Phil jumped a little and turned to Dan with the widest smile the sofa had seen from either of them all day. Even the girl across the room hid a grin as the two boys shuffled up the stairs, still hand in hand.

They didn’t need to say anything for the sofa to know they’d return. Maybe not tomorrow or the next day, but soon. The sofa had seen enough customers to know who’d left their mark there. And these two certainly had.

 

**

As the months grew colder, a sort of rhythm seemed to settle into Dan and Phil’s visits. They were never all that often but every other weekend or so, they’d traipse down the stairs with what the sofa had come to recognize as their usual caramel macchiatos and some kind of pastries, cheeks pink from the northern English winds and smiles wide as they remained glued to each other’s side. Somehow, the sofa was always empty. It helped that the downstairs seating was something of a little secret, mainly used by regulars who preferred a more secluded cafe experience.

One week in early December, they stopped by almost every day, spending hours cosied into each other as Dan teased Phil about travelling all this way for coffee when there was plenty of instant “back home”. Phil would always poke Dan’s dimple in response, saying it was the only way he could get Dan outside and enjoying some much-needed vitamin D. Dan would whisper that he was getting plenty of D, thank you very much, giggling at the way Phil’s cheeks and ears would light up scarlet. They were the happiest boys the sofa had seen in a long time. Maybe even the happiest people it had come across, ever.

They spent quite a bit of time at that Starbucks that month, much to the sofa’s delight. One Friday just a couple weeks later, with a few snowflakes still clinging onto the earflaps of Dan’s fuzzy hat and grazing the shoulders of Phil’s dark coat, Phil turned to Dan as soon as they had set their drinks down. There was an extra sparkle in the yellow flecks of his eyes and his leg was jiggling in double time as he explained his idea for a Christmas-themed interactive video adventure for his YouTube channel. “And yes, of _course_ you’re starring in it too!” Phil rushed out at the end of his spiel before Dan had a chance to interject.

Dan’s answering smile was the brightest the sofa had ever seen from him.

But unfortunately, that brightness didn’t last long. With the new year came a new shadow over Dan’s features, one that only intensified the closer it drew to February. Some days, his shoulders would be slumped nearly to the floor that his eyes barely glanced up from even as he and Phil traipsed down the stairs hand in hand.

Everything about Phil was stiff those days, and scared, even as he took plenty of deep breaths that shook in his shoulders against the back of the sofa. Eventually, after a silence that stretched far too long, he’d start rambling about his week and anything he noticed that was funny or interesting to him, or just start in on another childhood story. Sometimes, his hand would creep closer to Dan’s for a few seconds before Phil snatched it away as if Dan was on fire.

It took a while for Dan’s gaze to reach Phil’s face those days. Phil, for his part, always kept himself pressed against Dan’s side even when the occasional coffee-bearing stranger wandered down the stairs. The first day this happened, Phil’s rambles dried up pretty quickly, leaving them in their first awkward silence since Dan’s initial visit to this Starbucks four months ago. The sofa could _feel_ his heart aching as he asked Dan what he was thinking about at that moment. “Just remember you’re safe here, yeah?”

Another beat of silence seemed to stretch on forever until Dan finally pulled his gaze up to somewhere around Phil’s elbow. “I guess…” he started, sounding as heavy as he looked, “I really...don’t wanna go on this holiday. I’m sure India’s beautiful and all that but it just feels like a last-ditch effort to keep the family together when even Adrian can tell my dad’s on his way out. And what the hell am I supposed to do all those days if I can’t talk to you? Because you _know_ there’s gonna be no internet, or if there is, it’s just gonna be shitty hotel wifi. And I don’t even wanna _think_ about coming home after what’s sure to be another disgusting mess of a holiday, you know?”

“Then don’t come home,” Phil answered instantly. “You’re flying out of London, yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“Just hop on the next train to Manchester! Or, well, you might need a couple trains, I don’t know how it works down there. But seriously, Dan, you don’t have to come straight home. I mean, you do, but you can come to your _real_ home instead. Just pack some extra clothes. Or you can borrow some of mine if you want, doesn’t matter to me.”

Finally, _finally_ Dan’s eyes floated up to Phil’s face, a glimmer peeking out from beneath the dullness. “Really? Like...I can do that, you think?”

Phil was positively beaming now. “Yes, of course! I mean, as long as your parents and your nana don’t mind, at least.”

“Yeah, they won’t give a shit,” Dan muttered darkly. But something about him was considerably lighter.

“I’m gonna miss the fuck out of you, you know,” Phil sighed. “And this sofa will too.” He patted the cushion behind Dan for emphasis.

(As it happened to be, Phil was right. Not that the sofa could tell him or anything. But still.)

The second time Dan appeared defeated like that, it was because of his impending psychology exam resit. The third and fourth times, it was about university applications. Then there were celebratory coffees and sweets because Dan had been accepted into the University of Manchester on an unconditional offer and Phil confided in a whisper that he’d been looking at apartments in the city, just in case. Yes, Dan would be living in halls but that didn’t mean Phil had to remain with his parents 30 kilometres away. He was twenty three, for god’s sake! Phil’s parents were always asking what he was planning to do with his life--well, now he had an answer! (Or something of one, anyway.)

And then the days grew longer and warmer, customers now sometimes sticking to the couch with sweat, and the sofa subsequently saw a lot less of Dan and Phil. In fact, they never returned even as iced coffees were traded for hotter, pumpkin and cinnamon-scented drinks. They’d found another Starbucks, the sofa supposed. Most people did. Surely there were a multitude of cafes closer to the university.

(Yet it couldn’t deny the ache they left behind, as if they’d both reached down and plucked a bit of stuffing from the couch to take home with them.)

But then a year later, just when the sofa had stopped expecting Dan and Phil’s feet to be the ones clomping down the stairs every time...they returned. Their hair was a bit longer and Dan was a bit taller and more gangly-looking, but it was unmistakably them. Except this time, only Phil settled down onto the sofa--rather stiffly, it may add. Dan took the matching red armchair across from him, arms pulled tight across his chest, twitching ever so slightly like he was doing everything just to hold himself together.

They barely talked that day. Even their eye contact was limited to stolen glances that held a deeper layer of tension and uncertainty than they’d had even that first day. Mostly, they kept their attention on their mugs of coffee, both heads snapping up at the slightest hint of chatter from the top of the stairs.

They left far earlier than normal too, both pairs of shoulders sagging so low that the sofa began to worry about their posture. Silently, it said its goodbyes as they trudged up the stairs. Surely things were over for these two. That’s just how life is sometimes.

But they were back before the week was over. And little by little, they began to relax. Dan laughed a bit more, but it was still hollow some days. Phil started directing his attention back to Dan, although he always kept one eye on the tiny staircase behind him.

Dan never returned to the sofa. Instead, he folded his long legs into (and sometimes across) the armchair, making that his new home. The conversations he had with Phil no longer covered anything and everything. Instead, much of them centered around YouTube and some sort of “super amazing project” and London and the BBC.

Their visits were shorter but a lot more frequent now. The sofa wasn’t sure if that was a better deal, though.

The stiffness didn’t become apparent until sometime in the early spring, a couple weeks after Phil had brought a small camera to the Starbucks and filmed them both for a couple minutes with their customary food and drinks. This was especially interesting to the sofa, as they both perked up significantly once the camera was on. Not enough for it to look weird of course, but enough for it to stand out just a little. A couple weeks later, that on-camera stiffness had returned.

It happened so fast the sofa almost didn’t know what caused it. One second, Dan was lounging with his legs draped across the arm of the chair, the next, both pairs of shoulders drew tight to their bodies at a noise drifting down from upstairs. All Phil had to do was give Dan a nod and the slightest raise of his eyebrows and Dan’s feet were back on the floor as both boys sucked in deep breaths and plastered on their cheeriest grins--just as a couple of teenage girls came giggling down the stairs.

Both were dressed in black leggings and oversize hoodies, the blonde one stopping short halfway down the stairs as she let out a sharp gasp, immediately slapping a hand over her mouth as her shorter redheaded friend smacked her arm. They quickly continued down the steps before huddling together at the napkin counter along the left wall. Neither girl was holding a drink.

Phil let out the smallest of sighs, never once breaking his smile as he lifted his head to nod at the new visitors. The redhead’s hand clenched tighter around her friend’s arm.

Moments later, the two were striding over to Dan and Phil’s little corner. Both boys’ eyes were on the pastries they’d just started munching but the sofa could tell Phil had one ear tuned towards the excited footsteps.

“Hi, we’re sorry, we don’t mean to interrupt anything but...are you danisnotonfire and AmazingPhil?” the blonde girl stuttered out as her friend giggled behind her pale hand.

“Oh yes, the very ones!” Dan answered with a chuckle, voice smoother than the sofa had ever heard from him. “Would you like a photo?”

“Oh! I, uh, y--yeah, sure!” The redheaded girl had apparently regained the power of speech, her accent sounding distinctly Scottish. “Thank you!”

Both Dan and Phil stood up then, Dan graciously taking both girls’ phones to snap some group and individual photos with what the sofa could tell was a practiced smile.

They kept the small talk quite brief after that, Phil assuring that it was very nice to see them both and wishing them a lovely day. Dan agreed, adding “We’ll see you on the internet!”

The giggling girls seemed to get the hint, retreating back up the stairs as Dan and Phil returned to their seats. They waited a solid ten seconds before letting out a long breath at the same time, both intensely focused on the table between them.

Dan was the first to speak. “So. Not that I don’t love Manchester and this Starbucks or anything but...how soon are we thinking for the London move, again?”

 

**

After that, the sofa rarely saw them. Maybe a couple times a month they happened to clump down the steps (always keeping a slight distance between them) before taking their usual spots on the sofa and the armchair. But for the most part, the sofa had to busy itself with studying other customers. In fact, most days were far too quiet, instead spent deciphering snatches of conversation hidden amongst the new far too cheery pop music floating down the stairs.

One day in early August, Dan and Phil returned with packets of papers and an extra swing to their steps. Again, their discussion mainly revolved around London and the BBC. Just before they left, Dan fixed Phil with a potent gaze and asked if he thought they were ready, like _really_ ready.

For the first time in two years, Phil grabbed Dan’s hand in both of his. It only lasted a second but the moment  Phil’s eyes met Dan’s, the younger boy was instantly at ease.

And that’s when the sofa knew Dan and Phil weren’t coming back. It didn’t need a map of the UK to know that London was far away. Like, really far away. You don’t get rid of all your furniture if you’re moving somewhere nearby.

It never expected to see them again a whole six years later.

Almost as unrecognisable as the new decor, Dan’s hair was curly and his jaw much more square and...chiseled? If that was even possible for someone who so closely resembled a teddy bear almost a decade ago.

Both had deeper bags under their eyes, a testament to years gone by. Phil now wore his hair swept off his forehead, along with some thick black glasses that gave him an extra air of sophistication. But underneath his transparent white raincoat and the massive backpack he was carrying, Dan still wore all black. And in his monochrome jumper and fuzzy black jacket, Phil appeared to be matching, almost like Dan had gone in his wardrobe and chosen that outfit himself.

Of course, they were both carrying caramel macchiatos and armfuls of sweets.

The sofa had never been so glad to be empty. Better yet, both Dan and Phil were smiling as brightly as they had in those early days--and _both_ had settled into the sofa this time. Maybe they weren’t snuggled up again, but it was close enough. _God,_ had the sofa missed their warmth.

When both pairs of eyes had finished scanning the walls and decor, they turned to each other simultaneously. The sofa was just as shocked as Phil to find Dan’s eyes a bit misty.

“Wow Dan, I didn’t realize a simple Starbucks would make you this sentimental,” Phil teased, poking Dan gently in the arm. “I’m gonna need to keep you inside just so you don’t cry all over my croissant.”

“Shut up,” Dan giggled, the words full of fondness. “You know this isn’t just another Starbucks.”

_It’s our Starbucks. Our corner. Our sofa. It’s all those days with you, both then and now._

Dan didn’t need to say it for the sofa to know that was exactly what he meant.

And judging by the way Phil squeezed his eyes shut and pulled in a deep but shaky breath, he was thinking the same thing.

After a loaded few seconds, conversation then switched to their impending rehearsals and double and triple checks that they’d nailed down all the details. Rehearsals for what, though?

Instantly, the sofa was flashed back to that awfully tense day six years ago. So those girls that recognised them...was it because they were actors? They had talked about YouTube an awful lot back then. And Dan had said he’d “see them on the internet.” Was it possible that’s what the girls knew them from? The sofa knew about viral videos, from various customers watching them together and dissolving into fits of laughter. But how do you go from making videos to putting together what sounded like quite the elaborate stage show?

The sofa had no idea, but it was glad Dan and Phil were the ones doing it. Especially when every detail made Dan happier and wigglier than the sofa had seen in a long time.

They didn’t stay as long as usual that day, choosing instead to leave shortly after they’d finished their drinks. It didn’t feel rushed or tense this time, though. Rather, they’d given themselves exactly the time they needed before they had to head off to Ian’s place.

The sofa remembered Ian. Always one of the leading characters in Phil’s childhood stories, it was comforting to hear his name again. Even better, Dan’s face lit up as soon as he was mentioned. Almost like he’d become Dan’s friend somewhere along the way too.

As they each tucked half of the unused napkins into their pockets and stretched, the two just stood for a few seconds, silent and unmoving. Finally Dan said, softly, “I guess we should say goodbye, yeah? I mean, I can’t imagine we’ll be back here ever again.”

The words hung heavy in the air, Phil’s tone equally somber as he whispered, “Yeah, I guess. Bye Starbucks! Bye sofa.” He patted the cushion behind him, fingers lingering on the plush red fabric for a few extra moments. “You’ve been real good to us.”

“It really has,” Dan agreed. Then, after the briefest of hand squeezes from Phil, they were off.

But no matter what Dan said, the sofa knew they’d be back. They’re far too sentimental to leave it at that.

Until that time, though, the sofa will always be right here--ready and waiting for the two to come home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading and HAPPY 9 YEARS to the lovely boys who inspired this and every other wonderful fic posted in celebration of today or any day in their lives! Also, this isn't necessarily the end of this fic--I've got an idea for a much more bittersweet part two so if you're interested in seeing that please let me know and I'll see what I can do! I just wanted to post the happy ending now since I can't bring myself to break anyone's heart today of all days.
> 
> As always, you can find me on Twitter [@phloridas](http://twitter.com/phloridas) and Tumblr [@pinoftackle](http://pinoftackle.tumblr.com) (just for the month of October because I'm cheesy like that) and reblog [here](http://pinoftackle.tumblr.com/post/179217527516/wait-for-me-to-come-home) if you'd like! Happy international phannie day! <3


End file.
